


would we call that juniper?

by ships_to_sail



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Apologies, Boys In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Patrick Brewer is Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: The green button-down isn't in the closet, it's just sitting on the top of the dresser where he'd tossed it last week, a gift from Stevie when she'd apparently gone to pick up monogrammed towels for David. And only David, which he kind of thought explained the shirt purchase.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 15
Kudos: 217





	would we call that juniper?

**Author's Note:**

> Because when [these photos](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c79e8f8a10c8cca8c871742b6128093a/c40f8eb05375dfeb-12/s1280x1920/86fb8cd8fb3da8f3036f885e492b375dcffa318b.jpg) came out and Patrick looked so damn yummy in green, a fic had to be written. I wasn't expecting THIS fic to be what came of it, but here we are.
> 
> You're lovely and it's lovely to be here with y'all.

Patrick has never spent so long standing in front of his closet. Running his hands over the sleeves of his various button-downs, pulling the hangers apart enough to be able to see the front, as though he doesn't have them all memorized, as though they look distinct enough from one another for it to matter. 

Shades of navy, and cobalt, and slate are peppered with the occasional heathered grey and deep black, a closet of skies and oceans in mid-rage thread counts. He's always been partial to the color blue - it seemed simple, and masculine in a way he'd never needed to worry about - and his partiality had become all-out favoritism after the afternoon in the store, shortly after he'd officially become David's business partner, when the other man had looked at him just a second too long and off-handedly said "that color brings out the red in your hair".

Fast forward and here they were, getting ready to go start scouting out locations for their wedding. Wedding. As in, married. Forever to David Rose. Four words that, strung together in that exact order, still made his throat tighten and the butterflies in his stomach dance.

The green button-down isn't in the closet, it's just sitting on the top of the dresser where he'd tossed it last week, a gift from Stevie when she'd gone to, apparently, pick up monogrammed towels for David. And only David, which he kind of thought explained the shirt purchase. It wasn't a color he owned, and one he certainly wouldn't have picked out for himself. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like being Patrick 2.0 again, the semi-alter ego he'd adopted when he'd first fled his old life for Schitt's Creek and needed courage trying new things. It was Patrick 2.0 that guaranteed David the grant money, that pocketed the first receipt on their opening day, that asked David out on his birthday. And while Patrick 2.0 had long since retired, slipping the crisp green fabric onto his shoulders did send a small shiver of thrill down his spine. 

That was, until he walked out of his bedroom to David, waiting on the couch and tapping all four of his golden rings against the case of his cell phone. He had the sour look on his face that meant he'd talked to Alexis and she'd either changed the plan or left the plan or insulted the plan in a way David felt was particularly painful. "What's up?"

"Alexis called. Apparently Stevie called and is going with us on the venue tour today."

"But we love Stevie."

" _ You  _ love Stevie. I find Stevie...mostly tolerable. My sister on the other hand? She may enjoy Stevie, but she does not trust someone who wears - and I quote - 'unironic unisex flannel' to plan our wedding."

"And she decided to call you with this newsflash. Now. Fifteen minutes before we're supposed to get in the car?"

"Well, you know Alexis. Ever since she landed from the Galapagos she's been taking full advantage of those free in-network minutes. You're wearing green."

The nonsequiter catches Patrick off-guard. David's been glancing up at Patrick throughout the entire conversation, but it takes him this long into Patrick being there for him to see through the haze of his annoyance and witty repartee.

Suddenly Patrick feels itchy, like his clothes are half a size too small and he's got a tag still stuck somewhere. He sticks one hand in his front pocket and cups the other one around his neck and smiles at the floor. "You don't like it?"

"No, it's just. Would we call this  _ exact  _ shade juniper or wintergreen?

Patrick's cheeks go red. "We call it green. Tell you what, I'm gonna head to the car. Why don't you call Alexis back and tell her we're on the way." He walks to the door with a clipped step, like he's trying not to run. He doesn't want to change, both because they can't be late and because he doesn't want to give into David's pettiness. He knows David doesn't mean anything by it, that he's stressed about the wedding and sarcasm is his defense mechanism. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, but a few deep breaths in the familiar silence of the car and he's back on track for the great day they're supposed to be having.

A great day that wasn't supposed to include the constant loving but snide remarks from Alexis, or the constant deadpan rebuttals from Stevie, or the near-hysterics David always finds himself in when it came to issues of decor, theme, and drafting moodboards. That last one Patrick had been prepared to deal with, because he knows the man he's marrying, but his nerves have been so worn down by the other two that he feels his patience beginning to fray. 

By the third time they're in a cyclical conversation about whether the evening light over the back lawn of the old stone tudor will be  _ too  _ golden for pictures, he's done. He pulls his hands out of his pockets so fast it makes an audible sound and throws his hands into the air. "You know what? Fuck it. This place is out. And so is any place that makes the three of you," he gestures between the three of them aggressively, "act like this." He turns to David, who looks genuinely surprised to see him acting so visibly upset. Patrick has earned his reputation as the level-headed, even-keeled half of their relationship. "I'll be in the front, whenever you're ready to go."

And for the second time that day, he walks away from David angry. A little voice inside him whispers about signs and omens and signifiers of things to come.

He passes the waitstaff on his way to the front steps and says a silent prayer of thanks that Alexis had seen fit to arrange their menu and bar tastings at the same time they were scouting the venue. He grabs an entire tray of champagne flutes, even though he has no intention of drinking them all. Maybe some of David's flare for the dramatic really is rubbing off on him.

He sits down on the front steps and drinks two of the flutes back to back, glad no one is around to see the little burp that escapes. He picks up a third flute but takes a deep breath before drinking it, intentionally counting to five and rolling his shoulders down his back. He reminds himself how much of staying calm comes down to breathing. His next few drinks are much slower, much more controlled, and he's just swallowing the dregs when he hears the French doors swing open behind him.

"You know, I was thinking." David's voice is tentative and Patrick can practically see him pulling the sleeves of his fuzzy black sweater over his hands, playing with the edges of the white tuxedo shirt that peek out over the long plaid shorts he's wearing today. 

"Hm?" Patrick keep his voice non-committal.

"That color? It's more of a hunter green meets viridian, very LVX 2017. It's Baroqueian, almost. And you look absolutely stunning in it."

Patrick whips his head around so fast he hears his neck pop. David is biting his lip and looking at Patrick with worry in his eyes. He's twirling one of the gold rings around the middle knuckle of his index finger, and Patrick can't help himself, doesn't want to help himself, so he stands and crosses the short distance between them, reaching out his hand and bringing it to rest on top of David's. David stops twirling immediately and sucks in a quick breath.

"I'm so sorry," he lets it out in a rush, like he's still not used to the rhythms of apology. "I have been such a jerk today. And this is supposed to be all about our wedding."

"Our wedding? You sure it's not you and Stevie's wedding? Or maybe you and she can do some kind of quad arrangement with your sister and Ted?"

"Ew, Patrick." Patrick laughs and headbutts David gently on the shoulder, letting out a low growl of frustration. He lingers there, pressing his forehead into the warm, solid weight of his other half. David slips two fingers under his chin and eases his head back until his warm, brown eyes are all Patrick can see. "I am truly sorry that we have ruined this day for you. I promise, wedding related days in the future will not be like this. And I love the shirt. It brings out the green in your eyes and makes you look like a, a sexy little wood nymph."

That's what breaks Patrick, and he bursts out laughing and then they're kissing and David is pressing a hundred tiny sorrys into his temple and hair and the skin behind his ear. And when Alexis and Stevie find them a few minutes later with their own apologies, he passes them all the rest of the champagne flutes and they toast to a gorgeous location, and a new love in front of them, and a color scheme that would involve exactly zero viridian green.


End file.
